dull
dismal
drizzly
the sky on the day you left
at least how I remember.
it could have been sunny.
who knows.
it was also gray and cloudy the day we met.
I don't remember much about that morning, but I picture the grubby faces and mismatched socks of the two girls who met that day
and became the best of friends.
remembering the simpler times
when you were friends just because you lived across the street from each other
nothing needed to be said, it just was.
remember the magnolia tree?
we pretended we could fly on the old rope swing
we took turns, never arguing or complaining
everything was fair.
time's up, duffy dear
you said.
our eyes were full of stars and
our hands cupped around tender pearl petals as we spun.
remember the rainy day?
our picnic held in the garage
just you and me
gorging on a feast of nilla wafers
as we drank in milo and otis
on the old tv
you are otis and I am milo
I said.
we paraded on the wall
our bare, frigid feet against the wet brick
your little umbrella shielding us from the rain
as we proudly chanted and sang
freezing feet day is the best.
remember your room?
I gave you the little tea set and the unicorn.
we never gave it a name.
we played with our build-a-bears
yours was named sparkle ear.
curly, misty, rainbow dog, jason, sandstorm, and the others.
a big happy family.
remember the game closet?
I was the champion bowler
you were the star reporter.
you always won at hullabaloo
but I did the victory jump anyway.
remember, more than one player can share the same pad, but we never did.
you tried to teach me to play chess, but my mind was slippery,
the rules and strategies losing their footing as you smiled.
checkmate.
we played until james called for you
it's time for dinner.
remember the garage?
we sat on the blue car
spinning tales
spilling secrets.
indiana jones the only witness
to our scandalous stories
peering through the rafters.
we created hundreds of secret languages
the scrawled remains of which only existing on yellow sticky notes
hidden away inside the moon-berry bush.
born of our youth was bcm,
a club so secret and horrid
we couldn't say the name without bursting into a fit of obnoxious laughter.
ryann still can't find "m" in the dictionary.
remember the street?
we composed great shows
after we passed our roller skating levels, of course
pineapple surprise and others
praised by our audience of two or three with a round of generous applause.
our tiny hands forever imprinted in the asphalt after they paved over the hole in the road.
remember the summer?
the sunny days spent on the beach
but you never went in the water.
we ate ice cream from thrifty's
as we sat in the back of the minivan
blue and pink staining our tongues and smiles spreading across our salt-crusted cheeks.
remember the sleepover?
the first time at your dad's
when we stayed up all night playing the wii and listening to "legacy part ii" on repeat.
I told you you'd like the green ring conspiracy, and you did.
we had volleyball the next day, but we didn't care.
we got matching fedoras
sparkly and green for saint patrick's day.
we ate waffles shaped like the death star that morning.
remember the tsunamis?
with matt and adam
dylan and caroline
scoob and the breakfast pastries.
the hawaiian shirt made us laugh.
rotato rotato
every game we played.
we teased you for locking your arms when you ran.
don't touch me
said the crow-hand while we drove to the gym.
the door creaked
and the llama cried and bit
in the fields of brown.
it's her birthday
I said
coach dave brought cupcakes.
store bought, but good.
happy birthday
said matt.
that was the last practice.
remember the newspaper?
we spent hours writing them
and printing them from your mom's printer.
those short comics and interviews
the drawing tutorials and book reviews
the articles about my mom's plant abuse and the stuffed smurf strapped to the front of jay's car.
the drawings we made
with the flying piranhas
and joe.
remember the question?
you asked me what I would do if you moved away
I said I would cry.
I did when you told me.
the magnolia tree was cut down
our languages and games stuffed into boxes
our roller skates and little people collecting dust
and our volleyball jerseys folded and tucked away into a closet
our childhood
drew to
an end.
it was early in the morning when you came to say goodbye.
we blew bubbles in the backyard
we promised we'd write
and send sticky notes
we both wore our fedoras
and relived our childhood in a matter of minutes.
the car started
we hugged
you got in
I waved
it slowly drove
down the street
away for good
time's up, duffy dear
